


An Accolade to Morgana Pendragon

by Ferrane



Series: Mergana in Words [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrane/pseuds/Ferrane
Summary: Inspired by BBC 's Merlin (TV show)
Relationships: Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Series: Mergana in Words [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756156
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	An Accolade to Morgana Pendragon

“King Arthur died a tragic death, but his story is now one of legend.” The bell rang, interrupting the professor. “We’ll delve further into the prophecy itself tomorrow. Bring your Encyclopaedia of Prophecy textbooks so that we can compare Arthurian to others. Have a good day everyone.”

The students within the hall each stood and gathered their items, leaving the hall without a second glance at the lecturer. It was something he was used to but, admittedly, at times he missed the days when he was surrounded by all of his friends and family. He shook his head, gathering up his own items and leaving quickly, ignoring the presence at the back of the hall.

Professor Liam Morgan had worked in the University of Southampton for the past 5 years of his life and in that time, he hadn’t aged a second. It also meant that it was almost time for him to move on.

With a sigh that was worth centuries more years than his appearance allowed, Professor Morgan dropped down into the comfort of his sofa. Even now her presence would haunt him, watching from the passageway as if mimicking the castle alcoves which she used to drag him into. Sometimes the smell of lavender and rose would bombard him, reminding him of days hidden away in her room where he would hold her in his arms. At other times he would smell fire and ash and he would see only the cities that burned under her tyranny.

He shook his head, shrugging off his clothes and his persona. Now, within the comfort of his own home, he was free to use his magic to his heart’s content. The world had become sceptical of magic and magical arts and it had died out quickly to Merlin’s chagrin. His hope now laid with Arthur’s foretold return in setting the world back in order. To do so he knew he needed a way to blend in. Teaching had come as more of an accident than anything. It had taken him a little bit longer than it would probably take most to grow accustomed to the ever-growing technology the world had developed in the absence of magic. After setting up an electronic mail account and looking through multiple job search websites, he had gotten a reply from the University of Southampton to teach there. Merlin hated to admit that this is what the use of magic had been reduced to but it was necessary that Liam Morgan be provided with the necessary credentials and physical presence to make his employment (sort of) legal.

Five years of teaching had opened his eyes to the new generation, had reminded him of days long gone of his own youth and had given him hope for humanity’s future. It wasn’t the future that had been intended for them, not by the Goddess, The Great Dragon Kilgharrah or even Merlin himself, but it was a future they had chosen for themselves and Merlin was willing to lend a hand.

That’s not to say that he would ever let the world forget their story. He had told their tales across the land throughout the fourteenth century and every century that had followed. But not even he could stop imagination.

One of the ways Merlin now worked to keep their stories alive, as Liam, was by textbooks (which he had written under different aliases throughout time) and an end of year essay to understand what each student was accepting as fact and fiction in order to improve for the following year.

The end of year essay was not reserved to the plot of the legend itself, in fact it was suggested that students take on a character study of the one they found most interesting instead. In the past five years, there had been an overwhelming number of Merlin the warlock centric essays, a rivalling number of King Arthur essays, and the remainder? A varied repertoire of Queen Guinevere, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain and even the villainous Mordred. Professor Morgan had realised into his second year that everyone was avoiding the obvious villain.

The Lady Morgan Le Fay. High Priestess Morgaine. Princess Morgante. Or rather, the way Professor Morgan knew her best, Morgana Pendragon.

Arthur’s story had changed over the years, becoming the _Arthurian Legends_ and _Le Morte d’Arthur_. Becoming fiction.

The story of Morgana had warped the most. Gone was the girl who was wronged and fought back out of fear and anger. Gone was a girl who was betrayed again and again by the people she loved, manipulated and pushed towards the edge. Now, only a psychotic, murderous witch remained.

At times, with a cigarette perched between his lips, Liam would remember the Morgana from before the hurt and betrayals, from before the pain and the lies. He would remember the young lady who sacrificed her comfort and easy lifestyle to feed the people of Camelot during times of drought and starvation. He recalls the young woman who would buy from all the commoners’ stalls to ensure they were making enough money to live on. She would take loaves of bread from the castle stores with her maidservant Guinevere to distribute to the village orphans in the lower town. Despite being a lady of the court and the King’s Ward, she loved helping Guinevere with her chores and giving her dresses and spending time at her home in the upper town (Gwen’s father was a blacksmith and she herself was servant to the King’s Ward so herself and her father were awarded a home in the upper, cleaner parts of town). The Lady Morgana adored nature and detested hunting as a sport. She loved riding her horse Vive through the forests that surrounded Camelot (the scenery around her flowing by in a flash as the wind rushed through her hair. The sun beating down on her fair skin in a golden glow). She was outspoken and passionate and cared not for her own safety. She was the only person who was brave enough to tell the former King Uther that he was in the wrong. Angelic. Mischievous. Strong.

And by the Goddess did she draw the attention of every man (and some women) in the room. An elegant and truly beautiful figure. Gliding steps that seemed too magical within a kingdom where magic was illegal. Her hair looked like black silk, glinting and beguiling under the light of the chandelier. Her gaze would hold you in place, green orbs rooting you to the ground. Her smile – spellbinding. Her smile perfect. Comparing her to a fairy was literal.

Her smile curling cruelly into a wicked grin. The glint in her eyes sinful and magical. Her fingers clawing at the air as the life was drained from their eyes. A malicious and spiteful laugh punctuating every evil deed she had committed, as though silence would hold her captive once more if she let it. Her hair greying with dust and splintering with neglect. Her cheeks hollowed from malnutrition and skin becoming transparent. Scars both visible and mental. _She had needed him, and he had failed her._

She loved the sky because she had always dreamt of getting lost in the clouds, away from her guardian, away from her expectations. Away from the life of a lady. She hated having to watch executions in order to show outward support for the King. She loved sword fighting though Uther strictly forbid it (she snuck out with the help of Gwen and Arthur – and later Merlin – all the time). She hated not being allowed to wear trousers like Arthur. It’s not like she hated dresses, she just wished she could wear something less fancy and less restricting and less “made more for men than for women”.

She was made of blood and gold. Her sister turned her, her nephew (although she didn’t know it) betrayed her for her brother. Her best friend took the position she had always been told was her own. Her father, her biological father, killed her mother and disgraced her. He had torn her family apart and she wanted to tear him apart. Death to King Uther. Rise to Queen Morgana.

She was contagious. Righteous. Bruising. There. Always there. Never giving Merlin peace. Not since the day he ran her through with a sword and admitted all the wrong he had done with a single sentence: “I blame myself for what you have become.”

It's when he sees her that he can’t ignore her. It’s when she stares at him with those green, _seeing_ eyes that he knows he’ll never forget. She always whispers because she knows she doesn’t need to speak up. She knows Merlin is always listening, “do you know how it feels, to be a monster? To be afraid of who you are?” Yes. He wants to say. Yes. But he doesn’t. He didn’t then and he still can’t now. He can never comfort her. He can never just _be_ with her. And that pulls at his heart more than any of her crimes ever did.

He waits now, for Arthur’s return. For the day his blonde haired, brave, idiotic friend is resurrected. And maybe, secretly…he also awaits her.

It’s a habit now, for him to wait at the entrance to Avalon four times a year (with every change in season). An island stood where once only endless water and fog laid. It often makes Merlin wonder if the fog has lifted only as a result in the decline in magic. He wishes he could resurrect magic as much as he wishes he could resurrect Arthur. And Morgana. Always Morgana.

He turns his head now, to look at her, piercing green eyes that don’t lose their will even in death. She’s staring at him blankly, as though she is now unsure how to smile. And she’s silent. That always surprises him most. She no longer seems to fear the silence. Is it really even her? The morgana he knew, or the Morgana she grew to become, were either of them standing before him now? She looked the same. She even smelt the same and carried the same air about her. But she was quiet.

Her face breaks into a smile for just a second, gone so quickly Merlin thinks he’s imagined it. But he feels the shift in the magic, in the air. She was gone now, but Arthur had returned. King Arthur had risen. _He needed him._

Merlin stood with haste, ignoring the crash of his glass on the floor as he pulled on his jacket, running to the door. He glanced back, only once, at the now empty corner of the room…and then he was gone.

She was a beautiful evil in the world and Merlin would miss her eternally.


End file.
